


Black Out Days

by strangeallure



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Abandon All Hope, Camping, Depravity Inc., F/M, Mara Jade is a horrible person in this, Portrait of the Emperor's Hand as a Sociopath, Somnophilia, Stim Pills, Tranquilizers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22056898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: “Should I feel flattered that you’re starting to trust me?” He sounded amused, almost flirty. He clearly had no idea what was coming.Mara graced him with an indulgent smile and sauntered over to his bedroll. “You really shouldn’t,” she almost whispered the words, deliciously aware of the hypo she held behind her back, hidden from his view.“I’m gonna put you down for the night.” Before the protest on his face had a chance to manifest into words, she’d already injected him with the tranquilizer.Skywalker went out like a light.
Relationships: Mara Jade/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Black Out Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frangipani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frangipani/gifts).



> This was written as a birthday present this summer, and I decided to finally post it before the year is over.
> 
> I'd like to stress that Frangipani didn't prompt me for this, so content and subject matter are entirely on me. 
> 
> Title from Phantogram.
> 
> I enjoyed writing in this universe, and I adore Mara Jade. She is, however, a bad bitch here, so beware the tags, heed the warnings and abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Mara’s eye was twitching. _Kriff those stim pills_ , she thought. She had built up a tolerance the last time she used them to stay awake for one week straight, but that seemed to have faded, and now she felt like she was on the edge of an overdose, muscles all over her body contracting at random intervals, a weird, energy-soaked itch propagating under her skin.

Part of it was Skywalker’s presence, she was sure of that.

Bastard was acting like this was some kind of camping trip, trying to blur the lines, act like he wasn’t her prisoner, like they were friendly, like she wouldn’t shoot him the moment Karrde said she could without losing her job in his organization.

If only Mara had some way to lock him up for transport so she wouldn’t have to listen to him, wouldn’t have to care for his physical wellbeing to make sure he could keep up with her pace. A self-propelled cargo box or something. Her lips pulled into a smile. She could just put him in there and let him rot until their meet-up with Karrde. Surely a Jedi could survive three days without food and water, only his own excretions and effluvia for company. The mental picture made her chuckle. Self-righteous Skywalker stewing in his own waste. All she’d have to do was poke some holes in the walls to make sure he wouldn’t die of suffocation.

Without any outside prompting, another slow-motion quiver ran along her spine, like her vertebrae were popping one by one. The unsettling impression was amplified by the hypervigilance the chemical compound in those pills induced.

Mara hoped these side effects of her last dose would wear off soon, leave her to function in a range of normalcy for a few hours, already dreading the soft-focus space before the inevitable crash, when she’d have to take another pill. If only she could sleep. Just one night. But no, she couldn’t risk it. Skywalker tried to act like they were buddies, tried to chat with her like a regular guy, even joked with his rusty old artoo unit, but even here on Myrkr, without the Force to rely on, the man was dangerous. Dangerous enough for her old master to want him dead.

She wouldn’t think of that now. Couldn’t afford to dwell on it, let herself be distracted by memories of her old life. As the Emperor’s Hand, she used to be part of something greater, a grand plan, until five years ago, when her master’s murder had flung her into the mud with the rest of them. When her whole world had crashed and shattered, leaving her to make an ugly, makeshift existence from the broken pieces.

\--

It had been raining for hours, the ground slippery with mud and fallen leaves, roots and branches conspiring to transform the forest floor into a network of snares and pitfalls. Mara was getting tired, shivered in spite of the constant movement, her muscles aching yet twitchy, and she suspected the constant curtain of rain wasn’t the only reason her vision was starting to get hazy. She’d probably have to take another stim pill soon to avoid crashing.

In the distance, surrounded by drooping, leafy trees, she spotted something like a rock face. As they approached, she realized that it wasn’t rock at all, but a wall of braided grey trees. She was about to pass it by when something caught in her mind like a hook – a thought, a memory? She wasn’t sure.

Mara came to a halt, her arm shooting out like a bolt right in front of Skywalker’s chest to get him to stop.

“Does that look like an entrance to you?” She pointed up.

His eyes followed her hand, and his face scrunched up.

“Sure does,” he said with that disgustingly fresh-faced smile that made her want to punch him in the mouth every time, wipe it off his face.

She rummaged around in her pack, handed him her climbing spikes, a coil of rope and her surveillance cam. “Go up there, record what the place looks like, come back down,” she ordered.

“I’m not sure-“

She cut him off. “I’ll shoot you if you try to run. I’ll shoot you if you dawdle. So you better get to it.”

The edge in her voice was as sharp as her raised eyebrows.

\--

Half an hour later, she and Skywalker were setting up camp in the old Neti hideout up in those trees. A long time ago, at the Emperor’s Palace on Coruscant, Mara had learned that treehouses, foxholes and fortified caverns still existed all over Myrkr, some of them used to this day by pirates and other criminals.

After the Force-forsaken shavit of the last few days, Mara really deserved a break, and it seemed like this was it.

The place was weather-beaten, must not have been in use for quite some time. A thick piece of fallen wood had caught in the half-opened entrance, which was the only reason she had been able to spot it in the first place.

The hideout was elevated enough for her not to worry about vronskr attacks, dry enough to make a fire in the worn-out firepit with its metal-grated smoke outlet, and Skywalker was handy enough to get the ancient entrance’s closing mechanism back in working order, which was both annoying and helpful.

Under much dismayed chirping and whirring, they’d hidden Skywalker’s droid inside shrubbery on the ground, instructing it to transmit a warning in case of any approaching threat. Up in the trees, just outside the entrance, Mara positioned her only warning beacon as an additional safety measure. Right at the potential point of entry, she placed a pressure-activated flare, so that any hypothetical intruder would be greeted by a nice chemical burn.

Mara set up her bedroll in the back of the shelter. If something were to happen, at least their attackers would get to Skywalker first. There was a pleasant thought. For now, she sat down close by the fire, eager to get her clothes to dry, unbraiding her hair to let it dry, too, her legs jangling with residual energy from the stim pills. She just hoped the last of it would dissipate soon. She just wanted to rest, could feel the lure of the depth of sleep under all that excess agitation. Taking a swig from her canteen, she pulled two ration bars from her pack and threw one at Skywalker.

He caught it easily and opened it with his teeth, smiling. Bastard.

“I take it you’ll be getting some sleep tonight, too,” he said, that almost sunny gleam back in his eyes. The guy was deeply annoying, and she decided answering would be more trouble than it was worth, so she only grunted in his general direction.

Half an hour later, her clothes were dry and her boots were getting there. Mara knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep just yet, there was still too much energy coursing through her system, but she’d had most definitely enough of Skywalker’s incessant chatter. No wonder her adrenaline levels weren’t falling when he kept her in a constant state of annoyance.

With a clap onto her thigh, she declared an early bedtime.

Skywalker shrugged like he didn’t care either way, then stretched out his wrists towards her with a kriffing wink. “So, are you going to cuff me tonight?”

“No need,” she replied, eyebrow arched, suppressing an openly self-satisfied smile.

“Should I feel flattered that you’re starting to trust me?” He sounded amused, almost flirty. He clearly had no idea what was coming.

Mara graced him with an indulgent smile and sauntered over to his bedroll. “You really shouldn’t,” she almost whispered the words, deliciously aware of the hypo she held behind her back, hidden from his view.

“I’m gonna put you down for the night.” Before the protest on his face had a chance to manifest into words, she’d already injected him with the tranquilizer.

Skywalker went out like a light.

\--

If only she could sleep now, rest.

She’s hazy, yes, the stim pills are definitely wearing off, but there’s this restlessness, this kinetic energy she just can’t seem to shake. The hideout is well-fortified, but it’s a cramped space, and the downside to the safety it provides is that, with the fire burning low and the constant rain drowning out its soft crackling and Skywalker’s even breathing, it feels too much like a cell, like she’s locked in with him.

All she needs is to get rid of that buzz beneath her skin, that static, just enough to settle down, settle in. Mara does fifty push-ups, hoping to burn off some of the energetic overflow, but it doesn’t help. So she does fifty more, one-armed this time. She likes proving that she’s capable of feats of physical prowess like that, even if it’s just to herself.

The exertion makes her skin slick, her muscles warm, but that restless feeling, that surplus of energy, just won’t go away. A thought that’s been scratching at the base of her spine slithers up her brainstem.

 _What I really need_ , she thinks, _is to get off._

Mara has always enjoyed a good fuck. She likes the inherent game of control and release, the knowledge that she can manipulate almost everyone in the bedroom, bend them to her will. She likes the moment of climax, too, that transient unburdening that’s too fleeting for anyone to pin her down, that flash of delicious vulnerability she would never allow herself at any other time. How it’s inevitably followed by a feeling of rejuvenation, of power.

It reminds her of her old master, of the precious times when he truly entered her mind, shaped her thoughts, and she lost herself in his guidance, emerging stronger than ever, full to the brim with a reflection of his Force, his supremacy.

Her old master, who had wanted Skywalker dead, who had wanted her to kill him. The same Skywalker who’s lying right next to her, lax and vulnerable, completely at her mercy.

Right this moment, Mara wants to kill him, break his neck with her bare hands or maybe slash his throat with his own lightsaber. But she can’t. She has to be smart about this job, she’s worked too hard for her place in Karrde’s organization to throw everything away now.

She looks over at the Jedi, lying on his bedroll in his ridiculous tunic that offers no measure of protection, not from the weather, certainly not from plasma or blades or lightsabers. Such hubris.

Skywalker looks younger than his reputation would have made her expect, but now, spread out on his back with his mouth slack and his features completely relaxed in chemically-induced sleep, he looks outright boyish.

Mara wonders if it has anything to do with the ysalamiri, if he would appear more powerful, more imposing on a planet other than Myrkr, where he’d have access to the Force.

It doesn’t matter.

There’s another kind of nervous shiver shooting down her back, and she feels a single fat drop of sweat run along her spine as she considers his supine form. He’s not just a pretty boy, she realizes. He’s beautiful.

She’s always had a fondness for pretty things; a weakness, maybe. As the Emperor’s Hand, she was accustomed to nothing but the best, the most exquisite. On rare occasions, she’d allowed herself to roam the grounds of the palace just to bask in its beauty, be surrounded by the finest art and architecture; collected, curated from all across the galaxy. Her extensive training had afforded her scant times of leisure, but being her master’s confidant had given her the opportunity to fully enjoy the finer things in life during those fleeting hours.

All of that’s gone, has been gone for years. Now she’s making her living in the dirt like the rest of them. A filthy smuggler, no longer an Imperial, no longer part of the emperor’s court.

The thought disgusts her, makes her shoulders twitch, and she takes the few strides over to Skywalker’s bedroll, sitting down beside him. She touches his neck, feels his pulse beating slow and steady in his veins. He doesn’t move.

“I could do anything to you right now,” she whispers, “anything I want. And you wouldn’t even know it.” She wraps her hand around the column of his throat, slowly squeezing right where his Adam’s apple is, but he doesn’t even flinch.

Mara clenches around nothing, and realizes she’s already wet with want. She really could use a good fuck right about now, an orgasm at least, to help her take the edge off, get that restlessness out of her bones so she can sleep, be alert tomorrow without those damn pills, quick and sharp.

She likes pretty things. She likes using people, too. It might be even better if he had some awareness, if he knew what she’s doing to him but couldn’t move, couldn’t fight it, but this will do. Besides, he’s been much more flirty than appropriate, especially given the circumstances, so he might enjoy this more than she’d want him to anyway.

She undresses him quickly, throwing his clothes into a heap.

Her eyes slide along his form, and she probably shouldn’t be surprised by how much she likes what she sees. He’s a Jedi, a highly-trained fighter, of course he’s in great shape. His skin is light, not pale as milk like hers, but almost golden, his torso and arms streaked with silvery scars. His musculature is lean and lithe, powerful without the need to be flashy, specifically calibrated for quick, precise motions. No doubt Skywalker’s in excellent shape for close-quarter fighting.

It’s the body of a warrior who fights strategically, but doesn’t pull his punches. A reminder that she can’t afford to underestimate him.

But that’s not true for tonight. Tomorrow, she’ll have to be vigilant, constantly on guard, but right now, he’s helpless as a baby; right now, she could do anything and everything to him and he wouldn’t be able to defend himself, wouldn’t even know.

It’s the last part that takes some of the fun out of it. The tranquilizer she administered is some of the strongest stuff on the black market. It’s supposed to take out most sentients for twelve hours minimum, and if she didn’t have the antidote to get Skywalker up and moving again in the morning, Mara wouldn’t have risked using it.

As it is, she’s not even sure he’d wake up if she cut him to the bone. Especially here on Myrkr, where he’s completely divorced from the Force. He might bleed out slow and be none the wiser.

She traces the lines of his bones and his muscles, taking more care and time than she ever would with someone who’s conscious. If he were awake, she wouldn’t want to chance him misreading her actions, to see her attention and mistake it for something like fondness or affection. It’s freeing, in a way, not having to consider such implications, be able to look her fill as if he were an exquisite work of art, but one she gets to touch at her leisure.

His body is warm and dry, his skin surprisingly soft and Mara can feel his heartbeat in his wrists, his chest, his thighs; strong and steady.

There’s not a lot of hair, but what’s there is lighter than the sandy blond mop on his head.

He has pretty cock, too. Smooth and supple, as well-proportioned as every other part of him, and when she grabs him like one would a Vidian horse to assess its quality as a breeder, it feels good, fleshy, almost velvety, his testes nice and tight in the crinkly-soft skin of his ball sack.

She would never admit this, of course, but he’s a fine specimen.

Mara ponders how she will use him, and decides that while he’s pretty to look at, she’s in the mood to do more than just look as she gets herself off. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The next time she meets him, she’ll fulfill her master’s last order and kill him.

Quickly, she gets rid of her pants and underwear to have full range of motion, but keeps on her top. She’s about to straddle him when she thinks better of it. Skywalker’s thoroughly tranqu’ed and the place is secured and fortified.

On the off chance that someone should find them, the droid and her beacon will give her enough of a warning. Besides, it might have cooled down, but the air is still muffled, so she takes off her jacket and top, too, stretching her body in the shadows of the fireplace, arms over her head she arches her back. She must look like a fire demon, and the thought delights her.

Her eyes travel down her own body as she strokes along her breasts and her belly, and yeah, her skin still feels soft like silk, even without the regular ablutions of the royal servants in her master’s palace. She cups her pussy and circles her three middle fingers where her clit is, calibrated pressure, careful not to part her folds yet, provide herself with nothing but indirect friction, but enough of it to make her moan. She can hardly hear it over the rainstorm raging on outside, has to rely on the way it reverberates inside of her to know she did.

It’s interesting to do this just for herself, not to put on some kind of show, either to trick someone or to establish her own desirability, use her body and sexuality to her advantage, to communicate a power imbalance she can then exploit. That’s why Karrde’s organization, in spite of all its filth and grime, is a good fit for her. Mara likes power, likes to wield it and manipulate it, and that’s foundational for smuggling as well as obtaining information to trade.

This, however, is a nice change of pace. When she gets herself off alone, she usually makes quick work of it in her bunk. It gives her a different awareness of her own body and its riches to stand tall and proud like this in the dancing shadows of the fire, and do it just for herself, not to titillate or tease a mark or partner.

She weighs her breasts in both palms, grabs them with her hands, strong but too small to fully contain them. Skywalker’s hands would be a better fit, no doubt. She plays with her nipples, plucks at them until they stiffen, go from a soft rose petal color to a darker hue, until the areola is puckered, too, until they look like an invitation for someone to suckle on them, make her moan again.

Electricity flows from her breasts to her core, gets her even wetter, makes her hips sway. Like all that residual energy from the stim pills has found somewhere to go, has found its purpose in making her body move in primal rhythms.

She ponders getting herself off against one of his thighs, but decides against it. The novelty of the experience excites her, makes her want to draw it out a little bit. So she straddles his waist, delights in the shadow she casts across his supine form, like a nightly assassin bent over her unsuspecting victim. One of her many identities.

He looks so peaceful, so vulnerable. The lines in his face slack, his mouth open just a little as he sleeps.

She strokes his hair out of his face and it’s a little grimy, like it should be from their two-day track, but when she follows his hairline, she learns that there are a few silky strands at the nape of his neck, baby-soft. She scratches at them, almost tenderly, then pulls his head back by the scruff of his neck, but there is no real reaction from him, just his mouth opening a little wider.

It’s not a decision to bend down and kiss him, so she won’t try and find a reason for why she does it. He doesn’t know anything, isn’t conscious. The tranqu would have taken out a Jedi in full power. Cut off from the Force, he’s out cold, almost lifeless. So she keeps sliding her mouth across his. It’s strange to not have her lips greeted by an eager tongue, by a willing – often too willing – participant. It makes her go slow, be careful, like she almost never is, not unless she has teasing in mind and has her hands on the other person to make sure they won’t try and deepen the kiss.

It’s weird, almost chaste, but titillating, too. He chewed some root to keep his teeth clean earlier, and she can still taste it on him, a freshness that’s welcome. His lips are pillowy soft and deliciously slack, and his mouth is open just enough to lick inside a little bit. She might never have kissed someone as softly before, but without anyone there as witness, not even Skywalker himself, she doesn’t have to think about any possible implications. She can just take what she wants, and if she wants to go slow for a little while, no one can judge her for it, no one will ever know.

Eventually, she grabs at his jaw to make him open up wider, pushes her tongue in a little deeper, and just then she realizes that her hips have started rolling again, that she’s so wet she’s slicking up the skin across his pelvic bone. She can do better than that.

Scooting down, she moves one hand between her own legs and parts her folds, nestling his soft, fleshy cock between them. She presses down and clenches, and it’s good, even if she’d prefer for him to be hard so she could ride him good and proper, but with him cataleptic, that doesn’t seem to be in the cards. It’s still nice to have another person’s flesh press inside her pussy, rub where she feels her clit swell with arousal.

Mara dives back down to kiss his lifeless mouth, more ferocious this time, pushing her tongue inside as far as it will go. She wonders how heavy his sleep is. If she would nudge his tongue back, make it fold back into his throat, would he even notice before he suffocates? A spike of energy makes her whole body grow tense at the thought. He’s so completely exposed, so vulnerable, and he doesn’t know. Will never know unless she chooses to tell him. It’s a heady feeling.

Her hips bear down and she pulls back her tongue to nibble on his lower lip, not quite enough to draw blood. When she pulls back, his expression remains slack, angelic, but his mouth looks used now, swollen and bruised. Such a pretty picture.

She grinds down harder and to her surprise and delight, she realizes that his cock has started to harden. First the Neti hideout and now this. She really was up for a bit of good luck.

Standing up on her knees, Mara grabs his dick and works him over in quick, rough strokes, feeling him swell. Her pussy clenches and her hips roll in time with her hand, so eager to be filled up by a nice, hard cock.

She suspects it would be quicker work if he wasn’t out cold, but she still gets him fully erect fast enough, and she has to say she’s impressed. His cock is even prettier like this, thick and silky, not too short, not too long, just right. There’s a quick jolt of disappointment that he’s not awake. He’d certainly be the right size to pound her hard and fast and deep from behind without slipping out, and that’s something she values, something she hasn’t had in a while, something the sight of him makes her crave.

Just as well, she shouldn’t waste too much time, she reminds herself.

After all, she’s only doing this to get the edge off quick so she can go to sleep. Getting something to potentially humiliate Skywalker with, a secret she can disclose or choose to keep from him, is just a bonus. She notes the triangle of moles at the base of his cock. Knowing of them could make for a nice parting shot, if not more.

She takes him in hand and rubs the crown of his dick against her pussy, parting her folds with it, squeezing maybe a little too hard, but he doesn’t seem to mind, stays hard as she moves it back and forth across the hood of her clit until it’s peeking out, until she’s moaning, loud and lewd.

It’s different than any sex she’s had before. He doesn’t know, doesn’t see, so this is all about Mara and her own arousal, but not in an ostentatious, deliberate way. It’s not her demonstrating that she has power, it’s not like making someone lick her boots or her pussy to establish dominance, not like having some politician between her thighs, stroking a riding crop along the crack of his ass while she orders him to make her come.

There’s a rainstorm raging outside, masking her sounds from possible interlopers. Not even the animals will hear her shout and howl. She can be as loud or as quiet as she wants to be. This is completely about her own pleasure, about using him to get whatever she needs, what she wants. It’s a heady feeling.

Finally, she takes him in, and fuck, it feels good to sink down slow around him, taking her time, not to tease him, but to savor this for herself, revel in her own pleasure, in the feeling of being gradually filled. When he’s finally balls-deep inside her, she groans, rocks herself back and forth.

She touches his pretty, bitten mouth with three fingers. “Such a nice cock, Jedi,” she whispers and pushes all three fingers between his teeth at once as her other hand grabs her breast, kneading gently. She clenches around him again and again, bears down in a slow rhythm, and it’s so good.

She remembers something from her teachings and chuckles. “Aren’t you supposed to forego all relationships, Master Skywalker?” She rolls her hips deeper into him, feels his balls press against her flesh. “Are you being a naughty boy right now? Defying the statutes of your order?” She laughs, happy, almost giddy. “Am I taking your virginity right now?”

The thought is delicious, melts like sweet snow on her tongue.

The fingers inside his mouth make a grasping motion, pry his jaw open wider. “That would be such a shame, though,” she murmurs, the sensuousness in her voice just for herself, adding to her own excitement. “Such a lovely mouth, such a beautiful body and such a pretty, thick cock.” Normally, she wouldn’t dole out a string of compliments just like that, and it’s nice not having to care. “You shouldn’t deprive the galaxy of that, Master Skywalker. Not very generous.” She arches her back to get some more friction against her clit, biting her lip when she gets it. “Who knew Jedi were this stingy?”

The drumbeat of the rain outside is so loud that it almost drowns out her whispered words, making them feel less real than they would ringing out loud, echoing in the space.

She still has this deep-seated urge to kill him inside her somewhere, to crush his windpipe and his larynx, but kriff, it feels good to ride him, to be one hundred percent in control of how this goes.

Mara grabs his one hand and puts it on top of her breast. As she thought, it’s just big enough to hold her flesh, his golden tan a nice contrast to her own pale skin. Unlike his chest or belly or even his arms, his hands are rough, and that’s even better. There are welts and scars and calluses from years of training and fighting, no doubt. The texture feels delicious against her skin, makes her nipples pucker in an instant, and she pulls her fingers from his mouth, takes both of his lifeless hands in hers and cups her breasts with them.

Even without any volition of their own, she can feel the strength in his fingers. If he woke up, his hands could crush her flesh to the point of pain, and the mere thought gets her even wetter, makes her speed up the pace in which she grinds down onto him. His hands feel heavy beneath her palms, and his face is so serene beneath her, illuminated by flickering flames. She realizes that she did break the skin when she kissed him again, leaving his mouth beautifully red and swollen.

Mara doesn’t think she’ll tell him tomorrow, not even to tease. It will be fun to know what she did to him, to know he doesn’t have a clue. To have him wonder what might have happened, why he bit his own lip during his blackout.

She moves faster and faster, her body bending between the loose hold of his rough fingers and the hard ridge of his cock filling her up. Everything’s so wet with her juices that it’s an easy slide, that even with the thunder clapping outside she can hear some of the squelching sounds she’s creating with the fast rise and fall of her hips.

The air feels muggy and her skin runs hot, gets slick with sweat, even as the planes of Skywalker’s body remain dry like marble, completely unchanged. Mara finds the perfect rhythm to hit that spot inside her, and for maybe the first time ever, she doesn’t think about the sounds she’s making, what they mean, what the person with her or in the next room would make of them, just lets them fall from her lips, filthy and loud and shameless in a way she would never allow herself to be under any other circumstances. Her whole body heaving with heavy, sex-soaked breaths, winding high and higher.

Finally, all energy from the stim pills seems to be surging inside of her, cresting in a ruthless wave until it’s forced out in a cascade of wet, clenching shocks that leave her disoriented and breathless.

After a minute or two, Mara lifts her leg to dismount Skywalker. She can’t help smiling at the mess she’s made. Fuck, she hasn’t come like that in a long time. Hand it to Skywalker, he might be a self-righteous Jedi asshole, but his dick is a thing of beauty, glistening hard and proud, soaked in her juices. Something makes her reach out, play with his nipple, and she wonders idly if he can even come under the influence of the tranqu, if she could make him.

One way to find out, she thinks. Mara likes pussy, has eaten her fair share, and has sucked her own tangy, earthy taste from the mouths of many lovers. Sometimes, she likes having her mouth stuffed full with cock, too. Especially when she is in absolute control, especially with a fine specimen like this. Might as well try.

She spreads Skywalker’s legs and situates herself between them.

“Just in case this really is your first time, Jedi,” she laughs close to his hipbone. All of her body feels looser, more relaxed than half an hour ago, even if there’s still a low, sexy buzz beneath her skin. “Wouldn’t want to deprive you of your happy ending.”

She licks around the base at first, and yeah, she likes it. There the taste of herself, the one she knows well, but it’s mixed with the salty muskiness of his skin, of not having showered in at least two days, and in spite of growing up with fine, delicate, immaculate things, Mara’s always had a thing for dirt and filth, too, likes contrast, how opposites can complement each other.

She sucks on his balls and feels a small twitch in his groin. It seems like a good sign, turns up that buzz inside her a little more, and Mara’s one hand sneaks between her thighs for another go. She’s no glutton, but her second orgasm usually comes easier, is much less work than the first, and she enjoys how it tends to calm her down, bring her to a place of inner stillness, which, under the circumstances, is exactly what she needs.

Finding her clit, still swollen and slippery, she starts rubbing just as she takes the head of his cock into her mouth. At first, there’s her own taste, but as she suckles, it changes, becomes saltier, and she’s pretty sure that’s precome trickling out. Even unconscious, he can’t withstand the skill of her mouth and tongue, she thinks smugly. Not that anyone ever could.

She lets him slip from her lips and licks along the length of him, just because she likes it, enjoys the tangy smell, enjoys the warm pulse of his flesh against her lips and tongue, licking more and more of her own taste from him, sucking him clean, until there is only a faint flavor left that must be his very own.

Her hips bear down hard and harder, grind against the stimulation of her own fingers, and soon she’s close to another orgasm, so she seals her mouth around his cock and sucks in earnest, grabbing at the base of it for good measure, pumping her hand in a tight grip.

When she comes, she lets her head slide down, lets his cock hit the roof of her mouth as a string of muffled moans spills from her lips, as her grasp tightens involuntarily.

Even out cold, that seems to do it for him, and he pulses hot and fast, coming deep inside her mouth. She takes it all, enjoys the warm salty splashes against her palate and on her tongue _. I didn’t think you were this kinky, Master Skywalker_ , she thinks, _getting off on girls choking on your dick like that._

She’s about to swallow, but a better idea hits her. Mara purses her lips and spits his come out against his hipbone.

She laughs, swallowing down the remnants of his taste.

Should be fun, him waking up like this, his underwear crusty with dried come and no idea how any of it happened.

She dresses Skywalker haphazardly, so it looks like he had a particularly vivid dream. Mara’s smiling all the while, even if it’s kind of a shame to wrap up such a pretty sight. Then again, the fire’s almost out, and her lids feel heavier by the second, so it’s not like she’d get to enjoy the view either way.

Putting her own clothes back on, she sets her alarm for half an hour before sunrise. Mara takes a few swigs of water and makes sure she has the antidote to wake him up later, then positions both her blaster and his lightsaber so she can reach them first thing.

With a smile on her lips, Mara Jade falls asleep. When her alarm beeps, she feels better rested than she has in months.

Seems like there’s at least one thing Jedi are good for after all.


End file.
